


"Whose Blood is That?"

by SkitPojke



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-06 07:03:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12206268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkitPojke/pseuds/SkitPojke
Summary: This is for Meg bc she kills me daily with angstI am aware I royally screwed canon let it go there





	"Whose Blood is That?"

Stan paced around the gravel and rocks of the Barrens, hands behind his back and head down. His teeth were nervously playing at this bottom lip as he, for the hundredth time, checked his watch. Unseen to Stanley, Beverly and Bill shared concerned glances.  


“I’m sure he’s fine, Stan,” Beverly finally chimed in, breaking his cloudy thoughts.  
“Yuh-yuh-yeah, S-Stan, you know how R-Richie can be,” Bill added, betraying his artificially calm demeanor with his typical stuttering, truthfully, he was just as nervous about Richie’s whereabouts.  


Stan absentmindedly nodded to their comments, pretending to have heard them. It was, as Bill had said, common for his boyfriend to be late to most everything, but by an hour? Unheard of. Stanley’s mind was moving a mile a minute with possibilities as to what could have happened, each growing worse with every passing moment. It was as if Richie had been waiting for the perfect time for Stan’s imagination to jump to the possibility of Pennywise’s miraculous return, because once his thoughts had gone there, Richie was passing through the bushes that separated the forest from the rocky beach of the Barrens.  


Stanley’s eyes shot up immediately, and he was met with a nauseating sight. There was Richie, dumb crooked smile and all, with the front half of his shirt stained in blood, his nose seeming to be the source. His knuckles were bruised and covered in dry blood, and, what a surprise, his glasses were broken again.  


“Sorry I’m late lady and gentlemen,” Richie attempted his best impersonation of a British noble, but his voice was altered due to his, obviously, broken nose.  


Bill, Beverly, Mike, Ben, and Eddie all sat frozen, looking straight at Richie. He had been beat up plenty of times, sure, but never like this. The beginnings of a black eye were forming over his left eye and his lip had been split at least twice.  


Without any thought, Stan had already moved in front of Richie, tentatively touching his face, making him wince immediately. Stan’s eyes stung and tears threatened to spill over onto his cheeks. He swallowed thickly, finally speaking, “Whose blood is that?” The answer was obvious, of course, but it was all he could think to say.  


Richie looked down the front of his once grey t-shirt, pausing a moment. “Partially Henry Bowers, Belch Huggins, and a touch of Victor Criss,” he stopped, embarrassed, “but mostly mine”.  


Stan’s eyebrows were knit tightly together as he took in the sight of his boyfriend once more. His hands still rested on Richie’s cheeks, and Richie’s hands were on Stanley’s. “What got you into this mess?” It’s true, Richie typically asks for these situations, he attracts them, but he usually only received a partial beating by Bowers and his goons.  


Richie chuckled briefly, but it sounded more like a wheeze. “Listen, I know you said not to let their comments bother me, but you didn’t hear what they were staying Stan”.  


“Rich, it doesn’t matter, as long as you stay away from them, that’s what we agreed,” He was moving Richie’s hair from his face, trying to preoccupy himself with some part of Richie that wasn’t bloody.  


Richie nodded, he still remembered this conversation, he had promised Stan that he wouldn’t pick fights with those fucking idiots. “Right, and if it had been about me I would’ve left it alone, but I don’t like hearing them talk bad about you”. The homophobes of Derry, he was used to, but they brought Stan into it this time. The usual “fag” and “Jesus-killer”, he’d heard it a million times, but this time he was done. Fact: Henry Bowers does not take nicely to a scrawny-ass kid telling him to “shove a cactus up his fucking ass”.  


Stan was shaking his head, the stress of waiting melting into a light smile. “My hero,” he whispered, kissing Richie’s forehead. He stepped back, taking another look at his boyfriend, squinting, “The crooked nose is not a good look, Tozier”. At this, Richie laughed, hooking an arm around Stanley’s waist and pecking his lips softly.  


“Then take care of your boyfriend and drive me to a hospital, Uris”.


End file.
